The Motor Maids at Sunrise Camp by Katherine Stokes

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Title: The Motor Maids at Sunrise Camp
Author: Katherine Stokes
Release Date: November 28, 2007 [eBook #23645]
Language: English
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Presently Mr. Lupo came in with a tray of cups and saucers

and a pot of steaming hot coffee.—Page 29.

THE MOTOR MAIDS
AT SUNRISE CAMP

BY

KATHERINE STOKES

AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR MAIDS’ SCHOOL DAYS,” “THE MOTOR MAIDS
BY PALM AND PINE,” “THE MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT,”

“THE MOTOR MAIDS BY ROSE, SHAMROCK AND THISTLE,”

“THE MOTOR MAIDS IN FAIR JAPAN,” ETC.

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

BY CHARLES L. WRENN

M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY

CHICAGO NEW YORK

Copyright, 1914,

BY

HURST & COMPANY

Made in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
PAGE

I.
Off For the Mountains.
5

II.
The Camp.
19

III.
Rules and Regulations.
34

IV.
Table Top.
50

V.
In the Bog.
67

VI.
The Doctor.
83

VII.
Phoebe.
101

VIII.
The Gypsy Cooks.
114

IX.
A Lesson By the Wayside.
132

X.
Alberdina Schoenbachler
146

XI.
A Comedy of Errors.
162

XII.
The Return.
177

XIII.
Billie and the Doctor.
190

XIV.
Chance News.
204

XV.
A Warning.
221

XVI.
The Attack.
234

XVII.
The Force of Eloquence.
249

XVIII.
The Morning After.
262

XIX.
The Mills of God.
273

XX.
A Long Sleep.
286

XXI.
Comrades of the Road.
304

The Motor Maids in Sunrise Camp.

CHAPTER I.

OFF FOR THE MOUNTAINS.

“Sunrise Camp! What next, pray tell me?” sighed Miss Helen Campbell.
“But it doesn’t mean getting up at sunrise, Cousin Helen,” Billie Campbell assured her. “Although Papa says we would
like it, once we got started. Campers always do rise with the sun. It’s the proper thing to do.”
“But why do they give it that uncivilized name?” continued Miss Campbell in an injured tone of voice. “Why not
Sunset Camp or Meridian Camp or even Moonrise Camp? There is nothing restful to me in the name of ‘Sunrise.’”
“It will be restful, indeed it will, dear cousin, once you are used to the life, and it couldn’t be called any of those other
names because they would not be appropriate. You see there is a wonderful view of the sunrise from the camp, and
every morning if you wake early enough you see a beautiful pink light all over the sky and you wonder where the sun
is; and suddenly he comes shooting up from behind the tallest mountain in the range across the valley, and it’s really
quite late by then. He has been up ever so long, but he’s been hiding behind the mountains.”
“And we are to sleep on the ground under those flimsy tents, I suppose?” asked Miss Campbell, who was not taking
very kindly to the camping proposition.
“No, no,” protested her young cousin, laughing, “you’re thinking of soldiers, and they do have cots. This camp is a log
house, a really beautiful log house. There is one immense room without any ceiling, and you look straight up through
the beams into the roof. Papa says it’s splendid.”
Miss Campbell bestowed upon Billie a tolerant, suffering smile.
“And back of that room,” continued Billie, speaking quickly, “is a long sleeping porch that can be partitioned off into
bedrooms——”
“No protection from rain and wild animals, I suppose?” put in Miss Campbell sadly.
“Oh, yes. There is a roof overhead and a floor underneath, and it’s all enclosed with wire netting to keep out
mosquitoes. It can’t rain in far enough to wet the beds and, of course, nothing else matters——”
“Clothes?” groaned the little lady.
“But khaki skirts, cousin, and rubber-soled shoes and pongee blouses,—water couldn’t injure things like that.”
“I went camping once forty years ago,” went on Miss Campbell, without seeming to notice Billie’s reply. “It was
terrible, I assure you, it was quite too dreadful. One night there was a storm, and the tents that were not blown away
by the high winds were swamped by rain. Our clothes all mildewed, and the flies! I shall never forget the disgusting
flies,—they were everywhere.”
“This camp couldn’t possibly be blown away even by the strongest wind,” broke in Billie, ready to refute every
argument, “and the screens make it just as comfortable as your own home would be.”
“How far is it from anywhere?” demanded Miss Campbell suddenly.
Billie hesitated.
“It’s twenty-five miles, but there is a good road from the railroad station and the ‘Comet’ can take us across in no
time. You see, there is a little village in the valley at the foot of our mountain, and in summer a ’bus runs twice a day
with passengers and the mail, so the road must be fairly good. Papa says lots of automobiles go over it.”
“Twenty-five miles,” groaned Miss Campbell.

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“Twenty-five miles from a telegraph station——”
“But there is no one for you to telegraph to if Papa and I are with you, dear Cousin, is there?” asked Billie
ingenuously.
Miss Campbell’s expression softened. Nothing pleased her so much as for Billie to make one family of the three. The
young cousin had become such a fixture in her home that she had grown quite jealous of Duncan Campbell’s
possessive airs with his daughter.
“One would think she really belonged to him more than to me,” she would exclaim at such times, with some
unreasonableness it must be admitted.
But it was plain that the little spinster’s resolutions against camping were beginning to crumble.
“We are not to eat on the ground, then, or drink coffee from tin cups, or sleep in our clothes, or be bitten to death by
mosquitoes, and finally exterminated by wild animals?”
Billie laughed joyously. She knew by these extravagant remarks that her cousin had been won over.
“None of those things,” she cried. “We are to lead a comfortable, beautiful rustic life, and I know you’ll just love it.
There are lakes, cousin, exquisite, beautiful little gems of lakes; and trails all through the pine forests, and the walking
isn’t a bit difficult——”
“Khaki skirts, did you say?”
“Yes, and sneakers.”
“What are they, child?”
“Rubber-soled shoes to keep you from slipping.”
Miss Campbell sighed.
“And at my age!” she said aloud, answering some unspoken thought. “Tell your father I accept, but it’s the last straw,
and I may never see my comfortable old home again.”
Billie did not pause to disprove this dejected statement. She kissed her relative with the wild abandon of eighteen,
rushed from the room and was down the stairs in a breathlessly short space of time.
“She’s going! She’s going!” she cried, rushing into the drawing-room, where her three friends were anxiously awaiting
news, and Mr. Campbell, almost as anxious himself, was pacing the floor, his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
“Good work, little daughter!” he said, pausing in his walk. “I knew you could win her over if anybody could, although
last night I was afraid we hadn’t the ghost of a show. She was dead set against it. The word ‘camp’ alone seemed to
make her wild.”
“But, you see, she thought it was tents and flies and mosquitoes and tin cups.”
Mr. Campbell smiled.
“I think we won’t tell her any more, now that she has made up her mind. We’ll give her a little surprise. Call the camp
a log hut and let it go at that.”
“Now, about clothes——” began Nancy Brown, and her friends all smiled. “Well, one must have clothes, even on a
camping trip. Don’t you think a blue corduroy would be attractive, with a touch of coral pink in the silk tie, say; and
high russet walking boots—the kind that lace, you know——”
“They must have rubber soles,” put in Billie, “no matter what the tops are.”
“And a straw hat in the natural color, with a brim that droops slightly, and a pheasant’s tail feather, slightly at one side
——”
There was another burst of laughter at this juncture, and Mr. Campbell joined in.
“Miss Nancy,” he said, “I’m afraid you’ll have everything from hedge hogs to wood choppers at your feet if you make
yourself so attractive in silks and velvets and russets——”
“Nothing perishable,” protested Nancy. “It will be quite suitable, of course. It’s a mountain costume I saw in a French
fashion magazine, and it was really intended for an Alpine climber; only it was much fancier. The French lady in the
picture wore a lace jabot and high-heeled shoes, and she carried an Alpine stock with a pink bow tied just below the
crook.”
“Was the skirt hobble?” demanded Billie.
“It sounds to me like a Little Bo-Peep costume,” put in Mary Price.
“I think one should dress quite quietly on a camping party,” observed Elinor Butler.
Mr. Campbell seized his hat.
“My only advice to you, ladies,” he announced as he reached the door, “is to wear shoes that won’t turn your ankles;
skirts that give you plenty of leeway for climbing, and shirts that may be easily washed, because laundries are not
abundant in those regions. As for hats,” he finished, “you’ll probably not wear any after the first day, even the latest

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thing from the Alps trimmed with the tail feather of a pheasant. As for colors, the first time you go camping you’ll
probably let your fancy run riot and wear Assyrian purple or crushed strawberry. But the next time, you’ll pass right
down the line until you get to brown, because you will know by that time that brown fades brown. If campers had
been born wild animals instead of human beings, Nature would surely have provided them with brown coats for
utilitarian as well as protective purposes.”
“I thought we could just wear old clothes,” put in Mary Price, doubtfully. “I didn’t know people had costumes made
for camping.”
Mr. Campbell thrust his genial, handsome face back into the room.
“Camping clothes are like bathing suits,” he remarked. “After the first wetting or so, they all look alike.”
“I’m sure blue corduroy will last,” cried Nancy. “The man at the store said it was unfadeable.”
“You mean that curly-haired clerk who wears the ruby scarf pin?” laughed Billie. “What’s his name?”
“Delosia Moxley,” answered Elinor. “He is always giving Nancy pointers about the latest modes. He was responsible
for that Spanish veil she would wear last winter——”
“He was not,” interrupted Nancy. “He merely told me they were the fashion in New York. I needn’t have bought it if I
hadn’t wanted to.”
“I suppose he furnished that French lady’s Alpine costume, too, didn’t he, Nancy Bell?”
Nancy smiled good-naturedly. She never really minded being teased about her elaborate taste in dress.
“His taste is extremely good,” she said. “He expects to run a millinery shop in a year or so. He says he can trim hats
charmingly.”
“My word!” exclaimed Billie. “I suppose his mother will make your suit and he’ll pin the feather on the hat, and
between them they will equip you to climb the Adirondacks. But, oh, Nancy, I implore you to explain to Mrs. Moxley
that hobbles don’t go in the mountains.”
“She understands,” replied Nancy with much dignity. “She is going to make me the very latest thing in mountain-
climbing suits, and she gets all her fashions straight from New York.”
Her friends exchanged covert glances and said nothing. Nancy’s conferences with Mrs. Moxley, the dressmaker,
were a source of endless amusement to them. It was Mrs. Moxley who had made Nancy’s graduating costume that
June, and never had been seen on the platform of West Haven High School such a fashionable toilette. It had a
hobble skirt and a fancy little train that flopped about Nancy’s feet like a beaver’s tail, and at the reception afterwards
the boys had teased her until she left in tears.
Two weeks had passed since graduation and our Motor Maids were just beginning to feel the results of their hard
winter’s work. It had been a tough pull to catch up with their classes after the return from Japan. There had been no
gayeties for them during the Christmas holidays, only continuous hard study, and for weeks afterwards Billie and
Nancy and Elinor were tutored every afternoon. Mary Price, the best student of the three, had outstripped them, and
in the end had carried off first honors and a scholarship besides. But after the excitement of finals, the four friends had
collapsed like pricked balloons. Billie, mortified at what she considered a weakness in her character, had not been
able to throw off a deep cold contracted in the spring. Mary Price was limp and white; Elinor had grown mortally thin,
and even Nancy had lost her roundness, and her usually plump face was peaked and pale.
“My child needs mountain air!” said Mr. Campbell on one of his flying trips to West Haven. “She must not be in a
hotel, and she must have her friends with her.”
With characteristic energy he had set to work to find a place somewhere in the mountains, and he had made three
trips before he satisfied himself that “Sunrise Camp” in the Adirondacks, to let furnished, was exactly what he had
been searching for. The owners had gone abroad and were glad to rent it at a low price.
To “Sunrise Camp” therefore, after due preparation, Miss Helen Campbell, the Motor Maids and Mr. Campbell, who
went up to install them, departed. At the station next day they found the “Comet,” still attired in his blue suit acquired
in Japan, in charge of a chauffeur from a nearby hotel. Along twenty-five miles of mountainous road the faithful car
carried them, patiently climbing the last steep grade which led to a kind of shelf in the mountain whereon stood
“Sunrise Camp.”

CHAPTER II.

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THE CAMP.

“Hurrah!” cried Billie, trying to pretend that she was not at all tired after the interminable hot journey on the train and
across the mountains.
But her enthusiasm was not echoed by the others. Even Mr. Campbell, who always felt the heat, sat silent and
dejected. Billie, however, usually endeavored to live up to her theories, and she had believed that pure mountain air
would act as an instantaneous tonic on their jaded spirits. She was trying now to persuade herself that she was not hot
and dusty and excessively weary.
They had drawn up in front of a rustic hut built of logs with the bark left on. The roof had a graceful slant from the
central peak, and over the gallery in front was another low-hanging roof like the visor of a cap. On one side of the
camp, at no great distance from the house, a majestic army of pine trees had ranged itself in the manner of a silent and
faithful guard. At the other side, the ledge sloped down in natural, uneven terraces to the valley far below. From the
sleeping porches in the back could be seen a broad vista of low country encircled by a wall of mountains, now clothed
in a mantle of purple shadows as the sun sank behind the crests of the opposite range. The air was hot and sweet and
very dry, and the atmosphere vibrated with the hum of insects like the low, steady accompaniment of stringed
instruments in a great orchestra. But at close view, it must be confessed, Nature was very dingy. The pine trees had a
rusty look and the parched earth cried out for rain.
“Well, ladies, we are here,” remarked Mr. Campbell, “and I hope you’ll find it to your several tastes.”
“I am sure we will,” answered Mary politely, while the others moved in a silent procession toward the house.
Miss Campbell was already wondering how long they could endure this crude and lonely existence a hundred miles
from anywhere. The contagion of doubt had indeed spread like a plague over the entire company, and all for the want
of a bath, a supper and a good night’s rest.
“Ah, here are Mr. and Mrs. Lupo,” exclaimed Mr. Campbell in a tone of relief, as a man and woman approached
down the gallery. “They are half Indians,” he added in a low voice. “Mrs. Lupo will be cook and her husband, guide,
protector and man of all work.”
Miss Campbell turned reproachful eyes upon her relative.
So then they were to be left in charge of two half-breed Indians in this wild mountainous place, while he was away.
Really, men were too incorrigible. But Mr. and Mrs. Lupo, at first glimpse, were far removed from savages. They
were, apparently, like two shy, gentle animals with dark, shining eyes, and when they spoke, which was seldom, it was
almost as if they had broken a vow of silence. Winter and summer they lived in these high places, and only
occasionally did Mrs. Lupo descend to the valley to visit the little shops in the village and look upon the vanities of life.
“Well, Mrs. Lupo,” said Mr. Campbell, after shaking hands with the husband and wife and properly introducing them
to the others, “I trust you have some food ready for a crowd of very hungry people. It was too hot this afternoon to
be enthusiastic about lunch at the Valley Inn and hunger has overtaken us.”
Mrs. Lupo looked gravely from one face to another but said nothing.
“Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes,” answered her husband, and the strange pair promptly and quietly
disappeared.
“She reminds me,” said Mary to Billie, “of one of those genii in fairy tales that appear when you want them and melt
away when you have finished with them.”
“I wonder if she can cook,” was Billie’s unpoetic reply.
During these brief moments they had lingered on the dusty gallery, and now Mr. Campbell, eager as a boy for their
approval, led them through the broad opening into the only room of the camp, of which they had caught glimpses as
they waited outside. But they were quite unprepared for its vast size, capped by the unceiled roof now fast filling with
shadows.
“Why, it’s really grand,” cried Miss Campbell, with a sudden spurt of enthusiasm. “It’s like a cathedral.”
“Isn’t it fine?” answered Mr. Campbell. “I think the primeval huts must have looked like this, and when it came time to
build churches it wasn’t a very far cry.”
“I expect Mr. Primeval Man would have been mighty glad to have had one of those nice Morris chairs,” observed
Billie.
“It would have been good-by to cathedrals then,” answered her father. “Mr. Primeval Man would have passed so
much of his time in the easy chair that he would never have got beyond the age of dull-edged tools.”
And in this thoroughly modern primeval hut there were plenty of inducements to be lazy. Grouped about the stone
chimney of an immense open fire-place were numerous easy chairs, and ranged against the dim confines of the walls
were quite half a dozen cots to be used by people who might prefer to sleep indoors, Mr. Campbell explained.
The heads of several deer with branching antlers looked down at them from the walls, and on the floor in front of the
fire-place was stretched the skin of a great black bear.

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“Papa, I think it’s really beautiful,” exclaimed Billie, rubbing her cheek against her father’s shoulder.
“So do we all, Mr. Campbell,” cried the other Motor Maids.
“I am delighted and relieved,” he answered, rubbing his hands together with pleasure over their pleasure. “Better
introduce Cousin Helen to her—er bedroom now, and wash up before supper,” he added, winking and grinning
behind that little lady’s back.
Anybody would approve of the big room of the camp. It was indeed a splendid place, but how was Miss Campbell
going to take to the dormitory? A flight of rustic steps at one end led to a gallery opening on this doubtful territory.
“Oh, how delightful,” cried Billie, rushing through the door with a great show of enthusiasm. “I have always wanted to
sleep in the open and never had a chance except that one night on the plains. Remember, Cousin Helen? And how
you did enjoy it, too!”
“One night, yes, my dear, but this is for some sixty nights or more,” answered Miss Campbell, surveying a row of cots
placed at intervals along the porch. “I never slept in the room with anybody in my life before.”
“But this is not sleeping in a room. This is sleeping in the world, under the great dome of heaven,” exclaimed Billie,
laughing uneasily.
“If you want privacy, you can draw a veil,” remarked Elinor, pointing to denim curtains on poles between some of the
beds.
“And be alone in the world, under the great dome of heaven? Never!” cried Miss Campbell. “But do we dress out
here in sight of the entire range of mountains? I should feel that each mountain had an eye turned on me.”
“Really, cousin, you remind me of the old lady from Skye,” ejaculated Billie:

“‘There was an old lady from Skye
Who was so exceedingly shy,
When she undressed at night,
She put out the light,
For fear of the all-seeing eye.’”

Miss Campbell so far forgot her objections as to burst out laughing, and she was still further placated by finding at one
end of the porch a good-sized locker room, and adjoining that a bathroom.
“The water comes from the top of the mountain,” announced Billie. “It’s just piped in and doesn’t have to be pumped.
Think of bathing in such clear pure water as that. Oh, I know camping like this will be perfect!”
“It may and it may not be,” observed Miss Campbell, bathing her hands and face in some of the crystal water. “Good
heavens, what’s that?” she demanded, startled by the sound of a bugle in the twilight stillness. The call was loud and
clear, reverberating among the mountains and coming back to them in a softened, muffled echo.
“That’s Mr. Lupo blowing the supper horn,” called Mr. Campbell from the sleeping porch below. Down they all filed
and seated themselves anywhere around a long rustic table apparently loaded with food, for all the meal had been
placed upon it regardless of ceremony, and people were expected to help themselves.
“Fall to, fall to, ladies,” said Mr. Campbell, serving slices of broiled ham until the pile of plates in front of him was
reduced to one.
“Let’s introduce scientific management into this business,” suggested Billie. “With one deft movement of the arm, I’ll
help each plate to creamed potatoes, passing them along in order to Nancy, who can dish out the baked omelette.
While we are doing that Mary can serve the butter and Elinor can pass around the biscuits. There is no labor wasted
and the food is distributed in the quickest possible time.”
“What shall I be doing?” asked Miss Campbell. “I don’t see that I am being scientifically managed.”
“Yes you are,” answered Mr. Campbell with a mischievous glance at the pretty little lady. “You are being scientifically
managed by not being allowed to do anything.”
There was a chorus of drowsy, good-natured laughter. The leavening influence of food at a journey’s end was already
beginning to take effect. Presently Mr. Lupo came in with a tray of cups and saucers and a pot of steaming hot coffee,
and Mrs. Lupo, silent and soft of foot, placed four tall wooden candlesticks on the table, the light from the tallow
candles shedding a yellow glow on their faces.
“Excuse me,” said Mary, rising, after the hungry company had cleared up everything before them, “I want to go to the
end of the room and see what we look like. I feel as if we were making a picture somebody ought to see. We are,”
she called presently from the far end of the vast apartment. “You’ve no idea how picturesque you look around that
dark wooden table with those candles and the blue water pitcher and the pewter coffee pot.”
“And the empty omelette dish,” called Billie.
“And only one biscuit left,” added Elinor.
“I’ve no doubt Mr. Rembrandt would have painted us just so,” said Mr. Campbell.
“And called it ‘The Guild of The Globe Trotters’,” Miss Campbell was saying, when Mary gave a low exclamation of

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surprise. In order not to obstruct the beautiful view across the valley, the rustic porch had not been enclosed with
screens, but the openings into the living room were screened, and, standing just outside the broad door, Mary saw a
man peering into the room.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am afraid I frightened you. I was lost on the side of the mountain, and when I saw the
light in the camp I thought I would stop and ask the way.”
“Come in, won’t you?” said Mr. Campbell hospitably. “Have you had your supper?”
“I am afraid not,” answered the stranger with a short laugh.
“Mrs. Lupo, will you get this gentleman some supper?” called Mr. Campbell, while Miss Campbell, almost lost in one
of the big chairs, was wondering if this were the etiquette of campers, and if they would be expected to take in
strangers after Duncan had departed.
“Sit down,” went on the incorrigible Duncan. “We only arrived ourselves an hour ago, and we are hardly familiar with
the house yet, but there is plenty of room. Won’t you stop over night? My name is Campbell.”
“My name is St. Clair,” answered the stranger. “I live in a place called West Haven. Ever hear of it?”
“Percy St. Clair!” cried the girls and Miss Helen. “Where did you come from?”
“The scheme worked pretty well, eh, Percy?” laughed Mr. Campbell, after the young man, their old friend and
playmate, had shaken hands all around and insisted on hugging Miss Campbell. “I thought I would keep you as a
surprise. Where’s the motor cycle?”
“It’s outside. I walked it up the last climb.”
“Did you have any trouble finding the way?”
“Considerable. That’s why I’m so late. A fellow told me the wrong road, and I was lost for a while and had a foolish
adventure besides.”
“What was it? What was it?” they demanded.
Percy seated himself at the supper table, while Nancy poured out his coffee and Billie served him with ham and eggs.
“Well, I asked a man the way and he said, ‘Are you a doctor?’ I said, ‘Not yet, but soon.’ Then he showed me a
road and told me there was a very sick woman in a house at the top, and would I call and see what could be done.
You may imagine my feelings when I found that the road led straight to an old ruined hotel, and there wasn’t a human
being in it as far as I could see nor any sign of one. So I got on my cycle and went back down the mountain until I
found a sign board that put me on the right track again. But it was queer, wasn’t it, and rather uncanny, too.”
It was a strange experience, and after supper they sat under the stars discussing it until bedtime, and came to the
conclusion that Percy had met a crazy man.
Never had Miss Helen Campbell slept so well as she did that night on the sleeping porch. Toward morning there came
a quiet life-giving rain that freshened the parched earth and brought out the pungency of the pine trees. Only Mary
knew of the shower and of the soft wind that followed just before dawn, bearing with it the fragrance of the wet
woods. Only Mary saw the miracle of the dawn; first the faint flush of pink; then a deep rosy blush; next, rays of
orange and gold, and at last the sun bursting into view. It was Mary who softly let down the bamboo blinds to keep
out the sunlight and who finally slipped back to bed and went to sleep with the songs of innumerable forest birds in her
ears.

CHAPTER III.

RULES AND REGULATIONS.

At six o’clock they were awakened by a long, melodious trumpet call. The vigorous tripping melody drove the sleep
from their brains like a dash of cold water. Billie found herself sitting up in bed humming:

“‘Oh, come to the stable,
As soon as you’re able
And feed the horses grain.
If you don’t do it
The Captain will know it

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And raise particular Cain.’”

It was an energetic summons to rise and view a fresh and beautiful world, and Billie, glancing at her watch, was aware
that, as a concession to new arrivals, the summons had come half an hour later than scheduled. Half-past five was to
be the hour for rising in camp, provided the ladies were willing. And certainly they showed no signs of unwillingness at
the six o’clock call. Miss Campbell glanced placidly down the line of white cots. Then she inhaled a breath of the
delicious air.
“In all my life I never slept as I did last night,” she announced. “Did somebody put sleeping drops in my coffee, I
wonder?”
“I fancy the sleeping drops fell in the night in the form of showers,” observed Mary from her cot at the end of the line.
“There was no storm, just one of those quiet steady rains, and I never saw people sleep so hard. I thought you were
all dead until I heard Miss Campbell——” Mary paused and blushed. “That is, until I heard some one breathing very
heavily.”
“Now, Mary Price, don’t tell me you heard me snore. I never did such a thing in my life,” cried Miss Campbell.
With a laugh, Billie leapt from her bed and ran to take a cold plunge in the mountain water which gurgled from the
faucet with the pleasant song it had not left off singing when it leaped out of the side of the rock into the pipe.
At seven o’clock came the clarion call for breakfast: inviting and persuasive it was, with a lingering last note that fell
softly on the ear and gradually died into discreet silence.

“Mr. Lupo blows the horn with so much expression,” said Elinor. “I really think he must have had long experience in
summoning people to breakfast who were never ready. He’ll be giving ‘Weber’s Invitation to the Dance’ for dinner, I
suppose.”
They had finished their morning toilets in the locker room, and were about to go downstairs when something tapped
against one of the bamboo blinds. Billie promptly drew it up and looked into the clearing below.
“Who’s tapping at our chamber door?” she demanded.
A long fishing pole on which dangled five little nosegays made of ferns and grasses and wild asters was thrust at her.
“Why, Algernon Percival,” she called. “I never dreamed you were so energetic.”
“Not guilty,” answered that young man’s voice from the lower porch. “When the bugle sounded just now, I was taking
a shower bath. I’m still busy, but it doesn’t take long to get into camping clothes. Who is the only person we know
who would get up at dawn and go tramping off for wild flowers?”
A tall, lanky figure stepped out from the shadow of the gallery and lifted his handsome, thoughtful face up to the girls
leaning over the railing.
“Why, it’s Ben Austen,” they cried. “Dear old Ben, when did you come?”
“Last night at ten o’clock,” he answered. “The ’bus wouldn’t come up from the village at that hour, so I walked. It
was great. How are all of you?” he added, wiggling the nosegays in front of their noses.
“We’re as fine as silk,” answered Billie, with a happy laugh. “And it’s such fun that you and Percy are here. Papa kept
it a secret so as to surprise us, I suppose.”
“I hope it’s a pleasant surprise.”
“The jolliest kind,” they cried, running downstairs at the second call to breakfast.
Those of you who have read the first volume of this series, “The Motor Maids’ School Days,” will recall Percy St.
Clair and Ben Austen, two West Haven boys who were great friends of the girls during that winter when Billie
Campbell and her red car first made their appearance in the town. Percy, in the transition from boyhood to manhood,
has changed very little. He is of medium height, and his handsome fair face still flushes like a schoolgirl’s, to his great
annoyance. Ben, at nineteen, is six feet tall. His face has developed since we knew him some years ago. His features
are large and regular, his dark eyes filled with serious intent, and a mop of curly black hair covers his head like a thick
cap.
Downstairs they found Mr. Campbell pouring for himself a cup of coffee. The camp table was never to be set for
breakfast, but the dishes were to be piled at one end and the food at the other, and each camper was to help himself
to what he chose. There was a good deal of laughing and scrambling at this morning meal. It started everybody off in a
good humor, and in time it became the hour for jokes and absurdities that will never die out as long as there are boys
and girls enough to keep them alive.
After they had disposed of quantities of very good food, at least it seemed good to mountain appetites, Mr. Campbell
took a sheet of letter paper from his pocket and rapped for quiet.
“Young people, I want to read you a few rules which must be obeyed if camp is to be run on a military basis, the only
way a camp can be successfully conducted. Here they are:

“‘RULES FOR SUNRISE CAMP.

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“‘Unless physically unable, all persons must appear at breakfast promptly at six-thirty. Penalty for not
appearing—general housework for a day.
“‘Every camper, except Captain Helen E. Campbell, must make his own bed and keep his part of the
dormitory in first rate order.
“‘There will be inspection twice a week by Captain H. E. Campbell.’”
Miss Campbell bowed her head in acknowledgment of the honor.
“‘Dinner at twelve-thirty, unless picnics interfere.
“‘Supper at six.

“‘Sub-rules for Women Members.

“‘Females unattended or with each other are expressly forbidden to wander off bounds; that is, off the three
trails which pass near this camp.
“‘Picnics are forbidden without male attendants.’”
“Dear me,” interrupted Billie, “aren’t there any laws for the men to follow? These are all against women.”
“They are merely for your protection, my dear.”
“That’s what the men always say when they begin to trample on women’s rights,” declared Billie.
“All right, Miss Suffragette, just wait a minute. There’ll be a few for the men.

“‘Sub-rules for Women Members—Continued.

“‘Hobble skirts are forbidden.’” Mr. Campbell gave a jovial wink and glanced at Nancy.
“‘Any individual who introduces a Parisian Alpine climbing suit into camp must pay the penalty by being
made to climb a mountain in it.’”
“Now, you know that’s not on the list. You’re making it up,” exclaimed Nancy, blushing.
“‘The tail feather of a pheasant is not recommended as trimming for a camp hat,’” he went on blandly.
“‘No woman member is permitted to wear a lavender silk polonaise with lace ruffles.’”
“Polonaise?” cried Miss Campbell. “What on earth are you talking about, Duncan? Do you mean negligée?”
“Oh, excuse my ignorance. I thought it was called polonaise,” he answered humbly.
“Polonaise,” exclaimed the little lady, amid a wild whoop of laughter. “It’s a good thing you brought your daughter to a
woman member to have her education finished. Goodness me!”
“Dearest Papa,” said Billie, kissing him, “don’t you wear negligée shirts most all the time? It’s the same thing.”
“I thought all ladies wore polonaises,” insisted Mr. Campbell. “It certainly was the fashion in my youth, at any rate.”
“Fashions change with the times and manners, my boy,” said Miss Campbell. “But do give us the rules for the men of
this household before you forget it.”

“‘Sub-rules for Men Members.

“‘Men are required to look after the wants of the ladies and see that they obey their set of rules to the letter.’”
“And is that all?” demanded the women members with a great show of indignation. “Why, we have no rights at all and
they have everything!”
“No indeed, children,” answered Mr. Campbell. “When a man is required to look after the wants of five ladies, he at
once gives up all rights of his own and becomes a slave. There is no need of making any more rules for the men, but
there is one more rule for general obedience.
“‘All questions and disputes arising shall be settled by Helen Eustace Campbell, Captain of Sunrise Camp.’”
“Three cheers for Captain Campbell,” cried Percy.
Miss Campbell rose and lifted her little crinkled hand for silence.
“I accept the responsibility of Sunrise Camp,” she said, “under the conditions I am about to state: that I am not asked
to go canoeing in one of those tippy little boats without seats; that I am not persuaded against my better judgment to
climb to the top of a mountain, for I simply won’t, I tell you beforehand; and that nothing shall interfere with my
afternoon nap.”
“I am sure that these mild requests will be agreeable to all concerned,” said Mr. Campbell. “Will the company state
objections, if any?”
There was a dead silence.
“Captain Campbell, consider yourself installed as absolute ruler in this camp.”
“Papa, why be so businesslike?” asked Billie.

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“Because there must always be a certain amount of system in a camp or it won’t run. I’ve lived in camp so much more
than in houses that I know, and since I can’t be with you until later, I think it wise to get things started in this way
before I go——”
“The car is ready, sir,” said the village chauffeur at the door.
The Motor Maids had begun to learn by this time that it was invariably Mr. Campbell’s way to leave his guests in a
cheerful frame of mind, and they all knew perfectly well that “Rules for Sunrise Camp” had been prepared chiefly for
Billie’s sake, that she would be still laughing when her father kissed her good-by and still smiling when he turned to
wave his hat for the last time. She had been very homesick for him lately during his absences from West Haven,
perhaps because she had been run down in health and tired out. And to-day, in spite of all the laughing and joking, her
eyes filled with tears as she watched the car creep down the mountain road to the valley.
For a little while the camp seemed lonely and remote.
“The truth is,” thought Mary, wandering down the path to look at the view, “Mr. Campbell is so splendid that when he
goes away he always leaves a big empty space that doesn’t seem to fill up. And Billie is just like him. Nobody ever
could fill the emptiness she would leave.”
As if drawn by these loyal and devoted thoughts, Billie had followed Mary, and the two girls stood with clasped hands
watching the distant motor, now a black speck in the valley.
“Dearest, dearest Papa,” exclaimed Billie under her breath, as the tears welled into her eyes and slipped down her
cheeks.
Mary pressed close to her side with silent sympathy.
Presently Billie wiped her eyes and began to smile.
“Don’t tell on me, Mary dear. I’m just like a foolish little girl. But I do love Papa so, and sometimes I can’t bear to
have him leave me. Then I wish I had been born his twin brother and we never could be separated.”
Mary was about to dispute this argument on the grounds that marriage would have separated them, when they noticed
coming up the steep road a small bony horse drawing a little cart. A girl was walking at one side, holding the reins.
She wore a broad-brimmed jimmy hat and an old gingham dress faded to a soft mellowed pink. The two girls
watched her with admiration as she swung along the road, swaying slightly at the waist like one who had adopted the
easiest way of walking up hill. They were so intent upon her that they hardly noticed the blackberries and vegetables in
the back of the cart.
Presently the girl paused and turned her beautiful dark blue eyes on them without any embarrassment.
“Want to buy any vegetables?” she asked.
“Perhaps they will up at the camp,” said Billie. “Ask Mrs. Lupo.”
The mountain girl looked at her strangely and shook her head.
“Do you know Mrs. Lupo?” asked Billie.
“Yes, but I will not ask her.”
“Very well, I’ll buy something myself. What have you got?”
“Blackberries, onions and beets.”
Billie bought a pail of berries.
“You had better come up to the camp and let me empty them,” she said.
“Keep the pail,” answered the mountain girl, and swung on up the road, flicking the little old horse with a long switch.
Billie and Mary followed with the berries, which they presently left in the kitchen where Mrs. Lupo was working.
“I bought these from a mountain girl, Mrs. Lupo,” said Billie.
The woman went on working without looking up. Billie repeated what she had said. There was still no answer, and the
girls went out of the kitchen somewhat disconcerted.
“She’s a queer, shy creature,” said Billie, and thought no more about it.

CHAPTER IV.

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TABLE TOP.

Miss Campbell was quite willing to trust her brood with Ben Austen.
“He was always reliable,” she remarked. “When he was a baby, his mother could depend on him not to cry at the
wrong time, although, of course, he was only human.”
On the whole, she was relieved that her cousin had asked Ben to make them a visit. Mr. Lupo was all very well and
had guided their walking parties up the trails, or, seated beside Billie in the “Comet,” had pointed out good roads for
motoring; but Miss Campbell did not consider him as entirely to be trusted, because, as you probably recall, she never
liked mixed bloods nor mixed colors, either.
Some days after their arrival, when they had quite recovered from that unconquerable disposition to sleep, which
always attacks lowlanders visiting the mountains, Billie proposed that they take a walking trip across a tableland which
separated their mountain from the one behind, and finally scale the peak beyond, where the view, it was said, was
magnificent.
“Let’s go to-day while the spirit moves us and it’s so delightfully cool,” she suggested at breakfast.
“But Mr. Lupo isn’t here,” objected Miss Campbell. “He’s gone to the village.”
“We know the way, don’t we, Ben? Mr. Lupo showed us the trail yesterday. Most of it goes through the woods. It’s
only two miles across ‘Table Top’ and then we get to the other mountain. I’m wild to go. I’m beginning to feel shut in,
and I want to see what’s on the other side of this Chinese wall.”
“More Chinese walls,” observed Ben gravely.
“Mr. Lupo is such a restraining influence,” put in Nancy. “When he’s along, we have no real conversation.”
“He is a kind of a wet blanket,” observed Percy. “You never know whether he has heard you or not. You generally
have a feeling he has, but that your remarks are too trivial for comment.”
“All of which means,” said Miss Campbell, “that you want to go off for the day without a guide.”
“Please, Cousin Helen,” pleaded Billie.
“Dear Miss Campbell, won’t you let us?” cried the other Motor Maids.
“Not because that feather-top Percy is with you, but because Ben is here, I suppose I might as well consent,” said
Miss Campbell.
“Old Ben is just as much of a feather-top as I am, Miss Campbell,” protested Percy. “He deceives people because he
looks like an Indian. I’ve got a serious mind underneath all this curl and color.”
“I don’t believe it,” answered Miss Campbell. “But I wouldn’t have you changed, my boy. I like you as you are.”
After this two-sided compliment, they took it for granted that consent had been given and Billie rushed off to see Mrs.
Lupo about the lunch.
They had come to learn during that first week in camp that Mrs. Lupo was a law unto herself. For one thing, the
blackberries that Billie had purchased of the mountain girl had never come to the table, although the girls kept looking
for them to appear in the form of a cobbler or a roly-poly pudding. What had become of them they never learned, but
Billie had an uncomfortable suspicion that they had been tossed into the garbage pail.
“We can’t do anything about it, my dear,” Miss Campbell had informed Billie. “The woman certainly holds us in the
hollow of her hand unless we want to do our own cooking.”
Billie smiled. Miss Campbell was never known to boil a kettleful of water, let alone cook a meal. If there was any
culinary work to be done the Motor Maids would do it, and Miss Campbell might possibly arrange the salt cellars or
offer to go over the silver with a polishing cloth.
Mrs. Lupo dumbly acquiesced to the lunch.
“We will be glad to make the sandwiches, Mrs. Lupo,” said Billie timidly. “Please let us have some cold meat. I
suppose there is plenty of bread? Will you hard-boil a dozen eggs?”
Mrs. Lupo rarely replied to any question addressed to her, but she went about getting the things for the lunch and
Billie breathed a sigh of silent thanks.
“It’s really terrible to be a slave to one’s cook,” she thought. “But I know perfectly well that if I ever tried to subjugate
Mrs. Lupo I’d get mad, and she would just fold her tent like the Arab and silently steal away, and one morning there
would be no breakfast.”
Billie had tried several methods with Mrs. Lupo. She had said good morning with a polite smile, but received no
response. Once she had added:
“How do you feel this morning, Mrs. Lupo?”
A dead silence had followed this courteous inquiry.

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“Wires crossed,” Percy had cried. “Try again, Central.”
They had all laughed at this witticism and Billie had hoped Mrs. Lupo had not understood.
“If you had lived in the mountains all your life I guess you wouldn’t be very communicative, either,” she had
admonished Percy, after Mrs. Lupo had glided noiselessly out of the room.
“I guess I wouldn’t miss a call,” answered Percy. “If there was any one to call, I wouldn’t hang up the receiver.”
There were times, however, when Billie could scarcely conceal her irritation, and this morning nothing went quite as
she had planned.
There was only enough bread for a dozen sandwiches and there were only six eggs.
“But I said a dozen eggs, Mrs. Lupo,” she said, after she had sliced and buttered the bread and glancing up saw six
eggs cooling in a pan. “You know we are going to take a long walk across Table Top to Indian Head.”
The silence was profound.
“And we need more bread. Will you get me another loaf, please?”
No reply. Mrs. Lupo was quietly stringing beans on a bench by the door of the lean-to which served the camp as a
kitchen.
“Did you hear what I asked?” demanded Billie.
Nancy and Mary, placing ham between the slices of bread, looked up quickly, half amused and half frightened.
“Did you hear me ask you a question, Mrs. Lupo?” repeated Billie, exasperated beyond endurance.
Mrs. Lupo went on stringing beans.
Brandishing the long carving knife, Billie went over and stood in front of the strange woman. Percy, peeping through
the half open door, was grinning, and Nancy stifled a giggle.
“When I speak to you I expect an answer, Mrs. Lupo,” said Billie, trying to keep her voice smooth and even. “Now,
answer me at once.”
Mrs. Lupo looked up mildly surprised.
“There ain’t no more bread and there ain’t no more eggs,” she said, in a voice that sounded like an echo.
Billie went back to her work without a word, and later, when they had started on the walk with the small allowance of
lunch packed in a candy box, Percy teased her and called her the javelin thrower.
“I was almost tempted to pitch it at her,” said Billie. “She is the most aggravating human being I ever saw. I’ll certainly
never address another word to her, but it’s so hard to remember not to be agreeable.”
The placid depths of Billie’s amiable nature had been so stirred by the incident that it took her some time to calm
down, and she went blindly along the trail following Ben without seeing anything or anybody.
“Don’t let her jar you, Billie,” said Ben, soothingly. “If you want to forget your troubles, just have a look at Nancy-
Bell. She looks like a fashion plate lady standing on the top of Mont Blanc.”
Nancy had disappeared just when they were ready to start and kept them waiting fifteen minutes, which had also
served to aggravate Billie’s ruffled temper.
“Goodness me,” exclaimed Billie, laughing, “the child has put on her new walking costume made by Delosia Moxley’s
mother! When the climbing part comes, what will she do, Ben?”
Ben shook his head doubtfully.
“How do you like it, Billie dear?” asked Nancy in a honeyed tone, noticing her friend’s backward glances.
“It’s awfully pretty, Nancy. Lovely color, but——”
“You see, the skirt’s quite broad,” interrupted Nancy, anticipating objections and endeavoring to spread the skirt to
the full limit of its yard and a quarter.
“Just about as broad as one trouser leg,” teased Ben.
Nancy ignored the remark, and the pheasant’s feather in her hat seemed to quiver with indignation.
“Where’s the crook?” asked Mary politely.
“I’m her crook,” put in Percy. “You’ll find she’ll be using me as a staff presently when she has to take a step six inches
instead of five.”
“We’ll be carrying her yet,” Ben predicted.
“I think you are all perfectly horrid,” ejaculated Nancy, who indeed looked as pretty as a picture in the blue velveteen.
There was the coral tie at her throat, as she had planned, and perched on her curls was the jauntiest little hat
imaginable that served only to keep the sun off the top of her head and was no protection whatever to her tip-tilted
freckled nose. Mary and Elinor wore jimmies bought in the village, and Billie wore no hat at all.

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“No, we aren’t, Nancy dear. We’re just teasing,” said Billie. “You look sweet, but why have you never worn it
before?”
“To tell the truth, I was afraid of the scorn of Mr. Lupo,” said Nancy. “All of you are just like a family, so it didn’t
matter, but Mr. Lupo might have thought me, well—an amateur. I’ve been dying to wear it,” she added, giving a
dance step and looking down with pride at the snug-fitting skirt. “Of course, I know the skirt is a bit narrow. You
know how Mrs. Moxley is,—just determined to have her own way. It was all I could do to get her to put the extra
quarter of a yard in the skirt. But I think I can manage it if we don’t walk too fast. There is so much level ground on
this walk, too,—all that table land, you know.”
Ben gave a covert smile and the others laughed openly.
“You funny child,” said Billie. “It’s really beautiful to see a person enjoy clothes like that. You look sweet enough to
charm a snake, and if the walking is too stiff, we’ll just carry you.”
“So far so good,” said Ben, “but on the other side of Table Top there’ll be some climb.”
Nancy did not hear this prediction.
So far, indeed, the trail was a broad and honest path leading through the pine forest; but after a while, as it descended
toward the tableland, it grew so narrow as to be imperceptible to everybody but Ben, whose eyes, trained by long
months of camping and vacation walking trips, could pick out the faintest indication of a path where the others saw
nothing at all.
It was well past noon when at last they arrived at a scooped out area of land between the two mountains, connecting
them half way to their summit, like the web foot of a duck.
Here, hungry and tired, they paused for lunch, and somehow, two...